love poetry

Faith , linnets are a throuble, lad;
They must be screened an' fed,
An' sunned beyont your cabin door,
An' carried back to bed!

Faith, love it is a burthen, gerrl;
'Tis iver give an' take;
Aye, knowin' how ye give too much
An' niver count the ache!

Och, childer,' ma'am, are worrisome,
An' fret an' throuble fall
On wimmen whin their childer' come;
They have no peace at all!

But song an' love an' childer', faith,
These things you're gettin' free,
These things you've held to pest ye so,

They died for love and beauty,
Those heroes debonnair;
They died for faith and duty
To make the earth more fair.

We'll live, that love and beauty
May evermore abide;
We'll live the faith and duty
For which our heroes died.

I SEE my love in every little child
Whose eyes meet mine with laughter in their blue;
I hear him in the note, half sweet, half wild,
When bird calls bird their promise to renew;
I feel him in the ardor of the sun
That woos the fragrance from the waking flower,
And maple buds, rose flushed by beauty, won
To swift fulfilment of the Sun God's power.
The world is young once more as he was young,
With life and love reborn in everything—
O singing hearts! My own is faint and wrung;
The rapture and the riot of the Spring

Love is a talent, like the gift of song
That thrills its cadenced passion on the ear,
So Love, with harmony as rich and clear
Strikes on the chord of Life, a vibrant, strong,
Full note, that turns to right the cruel wrong,
That lifts the lonely, stills the starting tear,
Heals the bruised heart and casteth out all fear
With peace that only can to Love belong.

But if the singer sing not, then the high,
Sweet resonance shall harsh and tuneless fall —
Thus Love, if only garnered and not given,

When the creed begins to throttle
Life-expression, love-endeavour,
Save the wine, but scrap the bottle;
Love must be our light forever.

But the word must be the new one,
Gleaming and forever glowing,
And the vine must be the true one,
Every year new blossoms showing.

He sang as he lay on Mangerton mountain,
That Irish knight who had never known love,
" What song so sweet as the chiming fountain?
What blue so blue as the heaven above? "
Fond heart! for nearer and nearer drew
A sweeter voice and an eye more blue.

" O what can blush by the purple heather?
What gold with the gorse-flower dare compare? "
He turned, fond heart, and found them together,
On her glowing cheek and her glittering hair,

O, WHITE and red,
Above your head
The arbutus flowers and berries grow;
And underneath
The blushing heath
I've found for luck the heath of snow;
And sure 'tis fine
The foamy line
That laughs across the purple bay;
But, ah, let slip
From your ripe lip
One loving smile, and where are they?

M IRIAM , " Loved of God, " my little child,
I anguished so that thou mightst come to me,
And now my being bleeds as poignantly,
My mother's heart can scarce be reconciled
That God has called thee, pure and undefiled,
Back to His presence. It would seem that He,
Miriam, " Loved of God, " had need of thee.
Yet I can still rejoice that thou hast smiled
And lived to bless me for this fleeting hour,
For in my soul has grown the wondrous power
Of perfect motherhood, the one sublime
And stainless passion of the human heart,

If you should cease to love me, tell me so!
I could not bear to feel your ardent hand
That waked the chords of life to understand,
Hold mine less closely; no, Beloved, no;
If you should cease to love me, tell me so!

If you should cease to love me, do not dare
To meet me with a masque of tenderness;
I could not stoop to suffer one caress
That any other had a right to share, —
If you should cease to love me, do not dare!

If you should cease to love me, do not fear —
I would not have you think I made one claim.

The love that I would banish from my heart
Has nothing for me now but bitter pain,
And yet it holds me and will not depart
Nor leave my tortured soul to peace again —
And all my brooding spirit cries to God,
Just, for one single hour to turn Time's wheel,
Remit the sentence, stay the righteous rod,
And all the beauty of the past reveal.
Let me once more believe that Love was deep,
Impregnable, unbartered for desire,
And I, who sowed the wind, would gladly reap
The burning whirlwind of its flaming fire, —